cockles and mussles

Feck. I’ve only heard …’and singing cockles…and mussles…’ about 4 times in 3 days. Either live music or otherwise – I think I’ve heard the Molly Malone words (had a picture with her statue FYI) just as much. As far as patriotism is concerned, these Irish folk could give South Africans a run for their money.

God, thus far, Dublin has been wonderful.

For one, it’s euros. Not pounds anymore. That’s always cheaper.

For two, perhaps people don’t know this, or at least I didn’t, but Dublin is known for its Georgian doors. Doors that look like this basically, but all painted different bright colours:And like this:Or even like this:
In front of shops, pubs, houses, these doors are significantly Dublin.
Also, you don’t get too many high rise buildings here. Most buildings are never more than 4 or 5 stories.

There’s also a huge spire in the centre of town. Called Millennium Spire. It took over from a statue of a woman in a tub. (Can’t remember what her importance was). But she was known as the Floozie In The Jacuzzi. They took her away because she became a bit nefarious, 'Ta ting was tat people were trowing trash in tere.’

Until 2:00pm on Monday, me and a colleague from the Moscow office (I shit you not), me and this Russian dude, walked many of the sites. First it was Trinity College. Funny enough, I did my practical piano exams through Trinity College, but whatever. We walked through the amazing university and checked out the book of Kells and such.
Trinity is known for:
1) Being modelled directly on Oxford and Cambridge.
2) Having some of the richest literary treasures of our time stowed in the Long Library/Room – including book of Kells and much medieval and grand philosopher manuscripts there.
3) Up until 1973, it was apparently still biased towards protestant students. Although protestant rule was abolished in the 1700s, until about 30 years ago, the college preferred excepting Anglican students. You heard it here. From my guidebook, ok.

Then we did a couple of the grand gothic cathedrals in town – crossing over the Liffey River a few times – saw most of the beautiful architectural sites.

Then we gave up and drank whoring great whoppers of Guinness in the Temple Bar.

Mainly at the Quays Pub – which had live music all afternoon – a dude who sung Oasis and U2, bless him – and got a little pinted, like the rest of the Dublin population. It was sunny and beautiful outside, and a holiday after all.
My Irish mate joined me, and it just got more insane from there.

Thing is, and here’s the thing: I met a beautiful – blue eyed, dark-haired chap. This is what happened:

‘Oi would loike to buy yer a drink, yer up fer it?’
Peas: Sure sailor, amuse me. And talk lots please.

Chat chat, spade spade.

As time goes on, and Guinness is poured, he gets more and more tactile, things are progressing. He hugs me lots and licks my ear. Swear to Christ, he licks my fucking ear.

His hand is resting on my lower thigh. It’s a deal breaker, and it’s gonna be good.

Guinness is going down like a homesick mole.

He tells me he has a girlfriend. Shut the fuck up. All this FUCKING spadework for nothing, THIS is why I don’t spade people anymore. Even if they are gorgeous and spading me and are Irish and their accent is leaving me weak at the knees (although, what is he saying again?)

He tells me about his chick and I kind of focus my attentions elsewhere.
He then places his hand on my upper thigh.
Em…

‘Dude you have a girlfriend, seriously, give it up.’

‘No Oi’ve decoided I don’t have a girlfriend.’

Oh really. Just suddenly then.
Peas: So you called her up and broke up with her in the last 5 minutes?
Him: ‘I only met her last week. I want to go wherever you’re going.’

Tell you what, bring her here, and we can all party together.

‘No, she’s not my girlfriend, we met a week ago.’

Again, he licks me. This time on my cheek. Ew. For such a hot Irish lad, why oh why do I get the skin licking girlfriendiniser?

I mean, his single blue-eyed brown haired wingman was hot, why such a crummy choice? I should’ve sat next to his wingman not him.

He carried on and after another Guinness (how many, God knows), I look down and he’s gripping onto my hand. Just like that.

How did this happen? I could’ve graunched this dude maybe. Over my frothing cup of Guinness. But alas, I’m not that desperate to snog an Irishman (at least not tonight) that I’m going kiss an oke who has a chick and readily admits it.

Solly. I could’ve snogged and ran, could’ve never even given it a second a thought – it’s a random anyway. But no, my mojo had left the pub.

Instead I did more site seeing with my Irish mate (pissed mind you) and wandered around the city finding out about government (Ireland has a female president) and lord mayors and Georgian doors. The sun only goes down in this place at 11pm. It’s nuts. The sun also rises at 5am. This place is light ¾ of the day. How jetlagged am I going to be?

Still. Was nice to have a guy feeling my leg up. I guess.

PS: Irish people reckon, ‘it’s good crack.’ At first I thought they were talking about cocaine, but everyone says ‘crack’, so how could this be?
No, no craic pronounced ‘crack’ is to have a jol or a ‘bit of a laff.’ This is good craic or this is craic is a jolly good time in Ireland. Yours truly has jumped on the craic bandwagon and can’t stop saying the word. Over and over again.

It’s all craic. Just don’t show me yours.